


Promise Me

by Phoenixflames12



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Book 6: A Breath of Snow and Ashes, F/M, Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 18:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10224329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflames12/pseuds/Phoenixflames12
Summary: 'But Brianna turned and flung herself- baby and all- at Jamie, who pressed her so tight against his heart, I thought one of them must break.'A Breath of Snow and Ashes Chapter 120- 'If Only For Myself'Jamie and Brianna's farewell as she passes back through the stones.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All dialogue that seems remotely Diana Gabaldon-esque belongs strictly to the book.

‘Promise me, Da. Promise me you’ll take care of her.’

 

The words are rough and fast, caught against the wool of his waistcoat, her hand falling slowly to fist itself above his breastbone, fingernails digging into the linen of his shirt, imprinted forever on his heart.

 

He nods, eyes closed, forehead pressed against her own.

 

He drinks in her scent; a rich mix of pinesap, milk, firelight and water, relishing in the weight of daughter and granddaughter both as the wind continues to rise.

 

There is smoke in her hair, a flaming mass of auburn and cinnabar as she draws back, her arms still firmly latched around his neck; eyes burning.

 

Above them, the sky rumbles, the flat grey palette trembling with threats of rain, rising eerily through the four stones looming above the creek.

 

‘Promise me,’ she whispers again, the words fierce and trembling, the bairn’s heartbeat with its’ strange fluttering, missed beats mixing in symphony with his own.

 

_‘Go wi’ God, mo chiride.’_

 

Her skin, though flushed, is cold, icy tears mingling over his fingers as he lifts a trembling finger to trace her cheek.

 

‘I will, mo chuisle’, he manages after a beat of silence; finding his voice in the roaring wind.

 

She smiles a little crookedly at the Gaelic endearment, the first he had taught her in those strange early days after she had found him, found them, her eyes softening with pain.

 

‘I always loved you’, she murmurs, ‘ _will_ love you. Always.’

 

 He nods, the desire to hold her and never let her go; this child that he had longed and hungered for and loved, loved with all his heart for so many long and lonely years, swelling in his throat, making it suddenly impossible to breathe.

 

‘ _Lord that she may be safe. Her and the child.’_

 

‘I am the wife of the Laird of Balnain,’ she whispers finally, voice choking for a moment, but gaining its’ strength, her lips white as she draws out of the embrace.

 

‘I love ye, _m’annsachd,’_ the whisper is hoarse against his throat.

 

_M’annsachd, my blessing._

_His blessing to Claire’s light, now and always._

 

His hands are shaking as they survey each other at arms length.

 

She steps back, pressing her nose into the soft, dark fuzz that crowns her daughters head; her gaze holding his own, their fingers squeezing together in a final act of reassurance.

 

Her steps are slow as she backs away from him, back towards Claire and the shadows of the stones looming behind them. And he has to force himself to remain standing, to refrain from pulling her back into his arms and never letting her go.

 

Above them, the autumn wind hurries over the grass, rustling up dried leaves, as quick and as light as the footsteps of a ghost, the hair on the back of his neck rising with its’ chill

 

_‘She belongs beyond the stones. She belongs to her own time. A… A time that ye dinna understand. A time where wee Mandy can be well and Jemmy…’_

Without warning he hears Claire’s voice, rising through his mind as it had risen above the shadows of the white pool, trembling with fear and conviction and pain.

 

‘ _We are here, all of us. And we’re here because I loved you more than the life that was mine. Because I believed you loved me the same way.’_

 

His heart aches and cries out for all of them, for his Sassenach and Roger Mac and little Jemmy, clinging to his father’s hand and watching his mother with wide, frightened eyes as Brianna flings herself at her mother, their mingled cries terrible to hear, salt and ice burning on his skin.

 

The cry Is desperate; broken and splintered and yet filled with hope all at once.

 

‘ _I love you, Mama! I love you!’_

 

She is a cloud of cloak and hair when she finally draws back, Mandy presses against her breast, the words rising in an eerie, quiet chant under her breath, almost drowned out by the wind.

 

He strains to hear them, straining to hear his daughters’ voice one last time, that strange, harsh American twang softened, supported by the strange Scots burr that clings to her vowels, rolls off her ‘r’s and falls deep into her ‘y’s.

 

‘The faeries have stolen me again and again.’

 

A circle right, between two stones, a circle left, and back again through the centre – and then to the left of the largest stone.

 

And then comes the roar.

 

The great roaring hum of the stone thunders through him. Thunders through him as the rage and pain and fear had almost overwhelmed him when Claire’s head had disappeared beneath the waves, when he had crashed into the clearing to find his wife bound and gagged at the mercy of Richard Brown, dazed with blood and fury to the chant of Roger Mac’s drum.

 

He staggers, a frozen band of pain clenching itself around his heart as she steps through the cleft stone, his vision suddenly blurred, flickering in and out of focus.

 

And then he’s running, pounding the leaves, racing the wind that cut through him with all the force of a sabre thrust. It tears at his heart; a great, weeping wound that can never be healed, not now, not ever, breath ripped through burning lungs.

 

Roger charges up beside him, dark hair streaming, eyes burning as they reach the back of the stone, the unspoken terror of what they might find sharp as a knife edge.

 

The grass crackles in silent greeting, the thrum of impending rain playing no host to a body.

 

‘Oh God’, Roger Mac’s voice is a rasping whisper; joy and desolation cracking the syllables.

 

He sways for a moment, eyes blurring and Jamie reaches out a hand to hold him, drawing him close.

 

They stand still for a moment, listening to the roar of the wind growing steadily fainter over stones, rumbling down to the creek.

 

A choked, convulsive sound echoes in the back of his son-in-law’s throat, Roger’s shoulders suddenly, silently heaving against his chest.

 

‘They’re gone, _mo caraaidh_ ,’ he finds himself saying at last, pressing Roger’s shaking body further into his chest, remembering with a pang how only moments ago, he had done the same for Brianna.

 

‘Aye,’ the minister pulls himself out of the embrace, looking over Jamie’s shoulder to where Jemmy stood, looking startlingly young in the silence; an old look of hope and longing and fear caught in his dark eyes.

 

‘Aye,’ he repeats, fighting against the tears as he makes his way towards the child whose eyes were fixed on the stone. Jemmy reaches out to take Jamie’s hand, clinging to his grandfather like a leech.

 

Catching his son-in-law’s eye, Jamie looks down at the child, the band of ice that had crushed his throat when Brianna had disappeared, tightening so that it was suddenly impossible to breathe.

 

He swallows audibly and reaches to ruffle his grandchild’s hair; copper and russet mixed with dark lights of mahogany curling about his ears.

 

‘If one day, _a bhailach,’_ the endearment catches in his throat and he swallows; the image of Murtagh lying in his arms, his lifeblood seeping across the trampled tussock grass, rising before his eyes and he forces his voice to remain conversational; ‘ye should meet a verra large mouse named Michael- ye’ll tell him that your grandsire sends his regards.’

 

He does not look at Claire, his daughter’s parting words ringing in his ears.

 

_‘Promise me, Da. Promise me you’ll take care of her.’_

 

Instead he nods to Roger, who had been saying something to his son that he did not catch and steps back.

 

The roaring burst of fire from the stone makes his heart scream.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to read and review! Comments, suggestions, constructive criticisms etc are like chocolate to my brain!
> 
> Much love and enjoy x
> 
> Song suggestions: Leave the Past Behind (Outlander Season 2 OST), Fallen through Time (Outlander Season 1 OST), The Women of Balnain (Outlander Season 1 OST) and The Last Goodbye (Billy Boyd and The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies OST)


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